Cloudy Days
by Tusk Of Thyme
Summary: Some unrelated oneshots with intended various pairings and dedicated to Cloudy
1. Rescue

Charlie was in love. It was obvious in a subtle way, something about the way he'd inhale from his cigarette and sigh the smoke away as he was carefully stacked like a house of cards a top a precariously balanced circle of cut frosted glass framed in black metal.

He loved this café. It was a little cut of Chicago that just seemed to have a French air of philosophy about it. Sometimes he'd pretend he was actually in France, a southern countryside part. While Paris was mysterious and well lit, there was a spectrum of emotions and colours a city lacked. He'd pretend he was there with the person he loved before he'd chuckle at his foolishness and sip the bitter red wine in the fine curved glass in front of him.

He swatted his black beret off his head leaving his hair in a grouping of shattered glass angles and turned the hat over in his hands.

"That sweater looks good on you." His mind is pulled from the void as the chair opposite him rocks with a new person, a person with an enticing trapezoid smile and curly red hair.

He releases a nervous and breathy laugh, embarrassed to be caught in it. "You left it at my place…it was the first thing I grabbed, sorry." Charlie explains, muttering awkwardly and dipping his head from view. An inward groan of blatant _want_ passed through his mind, his hands cupping the base of his wine glass, trying to find something solid again.

"Don't be," his voice breezes across Charlie carelessly. He leans back in his seat trying to catch the attention of a waiter. "You bought it for me when you went to England so your entitled to your share." His last word stretches as he leans further back, his hand outstretched and beckoning a waiter his way.

Charlie shyly watches the lines and curves of the person in front of him as he orderes an accompanying drink. Charlie has decided he'd _never_ get tired of watching him, of drawing him.

Suddenly Charlie _is_ tired though, tired because he feels he knows what's going to happen and the real reason _he_ came here. He's pulling off that damn cream wool sweater with the waved designs and suppresses a small gasp as the air hits him and reminds him of just how cold an August night in Chicago can be. "Here." He's turned it out to the right side before he handed it to the owner. An amused smile watches him. "Take it Steven, I don't want it."

"Don't be stupid. It's cold out." Charlie's eye twitched involuntarily as he listened to the genuinely concerned statement.

"I'm _fine_. Take the _damn_ sweater." Steven Meeks doesn't move, Charlie could see his juvenile reflection in Steven's glasses, only making him feel further exposed. "Forget this." He doesn't care if Steven hears his bitter muttering or not because he's standing, all of his belongings tucked under one arm as he throws an exact amount of change on the table. A fraction of a groan sounded as he realized the only way out was to walk past a placid Steven but he's off anyway.

It's the hand on the top of his jeans that makes him stop. "Don't be foolish, at _least_ finish your wine," Steven's voice is smooth, controlled and it washes over the tensed Charlie, easing his clenched jaw and tight fists. "There's a special circle in Hell reserved for people who let good alcohol go to waste." A small grin flickers on Charlie's mouth. He used that on Steven a long time ago, back when things made more sense but were still somewhat broken because of Neil.

Steven is patient as he sees Charlie thinking. A gust of wind has Charlie shuddering and automatically that thick wool sweater is in Meeks's free hand and offered to Charlie like a peace treaty.

Charlie knows where to draw the line as he sits back in his chair. "No thanks." He responded casually as Steven shrugged and set it down on the table.

The waiter brings Steven his glass of white wine as they sit and examine each other. "I've been thinking Charlie," Steven leans forward, his eyes catching the light invoking a second of hitched breath from Charlie. He's half tempted to meet him half-way and run his fingers through Steven's much longer hair.

With their Helton days behind them, they were slowly finding their places in the world. Steven had grown his hair in honor of Captain's teaching just as Charlie had diligently gone to school for art. His parents had cut him off and supporting himself through college wasn't the end of the world. He actually liked working in an art gallery, the most interesting people ventured in to examine whatever artwork was up.

"You think too much Meeks." Charlie interjected as Steven paused.

"On the contrary," There was a sharp smile on Steven's mouth. "You _over_-analyze _everything_-us." He airily waved a hand between them as Charlie tensed.

"Then maybe you think too little." His eyes are narrowed and he folded his arms, knowing _exactly_ what Steven was talking about.

"I don't love you." Meeks leans in further, his tone hushed and eyes shifty, watching for a glimpse of anyone he may know.

"Because you can't accept what you are," Charlie isn't worried, bitter perhaps but he could careless if anyone was listening. He knew who he was. "You don't _want_ to love me." He's wearing his signature smirk as Meeks hushes him but it much more twisted than it used to be.

"I _don't_ love you." Steven clarifies with a frown over his glasses.

"Then why the hell are you here?" Suddenly Charlie had almost closed the gap between them, taking Meeks with surprise as he hisses venomously. Meeks jerks away as Charlie stares at him, eyes blazing, "_Why_ are you here? It's because you _want _something and I'm the _only_ person you want it from." Charlie retreats back into his chair, his arms hugging his chest again as Steven now seems more like the boy he knew in high school.

Charlie couldn't help but think and wonder what the hell happened? What had he done to turn Meeks into someone so flighty and scared? It was never like this before college, the sixties were all about revolution, acceptance, peace and sex-why was this so difficult for the intelligent Mr. Meeks?

_Because he's scared._

Charlie didn't know where that thought came from but as he looked over at Steven staring at his hands in his lap, maybe, _maybe_ it was true. Charlie watched Steven silently removed his glasses and rub his eyes, an action that always took a toll on Charlie. He sighed, glaring up at the answerless sky before looking to Steven. "Free tonight?" He asked, voice soft and immediately eliciting Steven's attention.

"Why?" He sounds nervous but tries to mask it as Charlie stands and throws some extra money on the table.

"C'mon," He inclines his head to the exit as he looks down at Steven's soft freckled face. "You wanna get out of here?" He smirks smugly, his high school persona appearing in his face.

Steven nods and follows Charlie out into the night. They walk alongside each other in the middle of deserted roads. Charlie kicks at stray pebbles, asking about Steven and how he's been in the two weeks they haven't seen each other. Steven's responses are concise and thoughtful as their conversation turns to Charlie and pretty soon their coyly flirting as they bathe in orange streetlight.

At one point, not too far from Charlie' apartment, Steven stops walking in a puddle of orange light and stares ahead. Charlie figures that something profound is about to be said so he makes himself comfortable by leaning on the forest green lamppost. He's never minded waiting for Meeks-that was half of the problem.

"_Charlie_," Steven breathes as he advances towards him. Charlie is trying to keep calm, the sweater his hanging in the arm his has looped into his pocket and he's leaning in a jaunty smug angle against the bar texture of the lamp light. His heart is thudding loudly; increasing its rhythm as Steven cautiously slides his hands up the thin, mushroom coloured fabric of Charlie's t-shirt. One arm is around Charlie's neck and his other hand his cupping the back of his head and Steven is looking up at him with an expression that asks if this is okay.

Charlie swallows and his tongue flicks out to wet his lips as he stares into Steven's eyes, making no other move.

They're kissing. Meeks has tipped Charlie's head down just enough as he presses into him. Charlie has shut his eyes and curses the lamppost digging into his back but tries to ignore it because he's in love.

The sweater hits the ground with a light moth sound and Charlie's arms are around Steven's waist, squeezing him firmly as the redhead releases a small surprised noise.

Their kisses are desperate and constant. Steven doesn't want to stop because Charlie's right, he really _does_ want this and Charlie is the only person who could ever give it to him. Charlie doesn't want to let go because he doesn't know how long it'll be until Steven comes back. His throat is aching with the desire to confess just _how damn much_ he loves him as he continues kissing Steven's hot mouth. He's never said it before; too scared of what would happen.

And yet part of him wants to know. "Meeks," He still grips him tight as Charlie looks directly into his freckled face. "Why do we keep doing this?" As Steven's brow furrows, Charlie knows he's potentially ruined his chances tonight as Steven sighs.

"Later, Charlie," He leans up to kiss Charlie, his eyes closing as he whispers, "_Later_…"

"No!" Charlie growls irritated, he grips Steven's biceps as their breath mingles in temporary clouds. Steven's eyes are wide in momentary surprise as Charlie continues. "_Now_ Steven! I'm-I'm…_I'm sick of your bullshit!_" There's a short pause as Charlie inhales the night air, cooling his insides. "You need to make up your mind Meeks, you can't keep stringing me a long for the ride." This had been going on for too long.

Their senior year held so much promise, like they were really together and then everything fell through with death and expulsion-two years they've messed around. Charlie has always been so patient; hoping that one day, they'd cement their one-night stands and then long weeks without seeing each other.

When Steven doesn't reply Charlie _swears_ he could throttle him. His hands drop from Steven's arms and they regard each other silently before Charlie takes a step in, his hands on Steven's face and his kisses are light and teasing on Steven's mouth. "You _have_ to stop doing this." He murmurs between kisses and Meeks is melting into his hands with soft noises of want.

"_Can't_." Steven confesses in a small whine as Charlie freezes and growls.

"We'll see about _that_." Now he's dragging Steven to his apartment, ignoring his questions and worry and never lets go of Steven's wrist because tonight Charlie has decided he's going to make Steven his if it's the _last_ thing he ever does.

Inside the apartment, Charlie slams the door and drags Steven back towards the bedroom. They don't even make it past the bathroom before Charlie shoves Steven up against the wall, and tells him that he's _stupid, you're so fucking __**stupid**__, Steven._ Steven doesn't know _why_ he's stupid, but he knows he's scared because he's never seen Charlie with an emotion this intense coming out of him in his direction. He can barely kiss back when Charlie's lips press against his because it's not even a kiss, it's tongue and teeth and lips that are there for a few seconds before they're gone. Charlie's lips are at the side of Steven's neck, high enough up that a shirt collar won't hide the bruise he's making a point of putting there.

Charlie's teeth hurt as he bites and Steven whimpers, struggling half-heartedly against him. "Ow. _Ow_, Charlie. Charlie, you're _hurting_ me." Meeks says, whining but it really doesn't matter in the least because Charlie wants and cares too much to stop.

"You're mine, Steven. You're _mine_." Charlie growls, his breath hot against Steven's neck and he stops squirming so he can hear the words that are coming out in a desperate hiss. "You _don't_ get to do this. You don't get to go come and go as you _fucking_ please anymore because you're _scared_ and are having problems with figuring out who the fuck you _really are._ You're mine and I'm not letting you run away _anymore_. Do you _hear_ me?"

"Y-yes." His voice is too thin and he swallows nervously, his voice firmer when he tries again, "Yes, I hear you."

"You've _always_ been mine." Charlie nudges Steven's legs apart, pressing his thigh up, smiling when Steven groans at the pressure. "You'll _always_ be mine." And then Charlie's tongue is pressing gently against the bruise he's marked Steven's neck with, kissing it and he's releasing his grip on Steven's arms, hands coming down to rub at Steven's sides before they're sliding down Steven's back and lifting the hem of his vest and shirt off.

After his bare torso is revealed, Steven wraps his arms around Charlie's neck, letting Charlie lift him up, pressing kisses to Charlie's face in a silent apology as they make the short trip to the bedroom, obeying when Charlie tells him to let go and is dropped unceremoniously onto the bed.

Charlie crawls over him and holds Steven's wrists down as he kisses him and Steven moans into Charlie's mouth. "_God_ Charlie!" Charlie smirks, it sounds almost blasphemous as Steven cries out helplessly. "_Do _something, please!"

Charlie sits up, straddling a panting Steven with a dark expression. "You're going to have to beg for it tonight Steven." Charlie hasn't decided if he's sincere are joking but he sounds serious enough as Steven bites at his lower lip nervously. Charlie worries if he's gone to far but soon he hears Steven mumbling something as he looks away. "What was that?"

Steven squirms uncomfortably for a second as he still looks to the side. "Please, _please_ fuck me Charlie…"

And Charlie's mouth is open in awe before he's hesitating. "I was…kind of joking-" He muttered bashfully.

"Well I'm kind of hard and kind of not-_please_ Charlie, for the_ love of G-"_ Charlie is never asked twice. He's kissing Steven again, smiling as he feels fingers in his hair and his fighting with Meeks's thin belt and his buttons. _You better fucking be here in the morning_.

It's a slow, tumbling night as they move together in a disarray of lips and limbs as Charlie tries his best to make sure Steven will never forget this. Some tears are shed as they rock together and hold tight, both of them trembling in the final throes as Steven bites down on Charlie's shoulder, melting into gasps and Charlie moans into Steven's neck. They're quiet for a time before confessions are whispered: _I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry-_

_It doesn't matter, I love you_

…_I love you too._

Charlie's sure that there's no better feeling in the world than waking up with Steven cradled into his chest.


	2. When You Say Nothing at All

Steven had been caught in the rain. As he opened his splintering wood door, his other hand shook through his wet hair vainly. With misty glasses and clicking teeth, he hurriedly stepped inside, sighing when the atmosphere was warm and the air was a mixture of delicious aromas and the home-sweet-home smell of nicotine.

Charlie was in the living room. His grey socked feet crossed and laxly set on the glass coffee table. His arms folded behind his head as he stared to the white textured ceiling, his cigarette turning into a stack of precariously balanced ash that tumbled when Steven entered. He was still cold, twitching up and down trying to keep his circulation going with a slightly damp newspaper under his arm. He moved in hurried steps, every so often a particularly shuddering breath would suck in a swollen lower lip before breathing it back out again.

Charlie's arms unfolded, lining the back of the couch and soon Meeks was curled up in the curves of Charlie's side, a single arm now draped around his damp neck as the warmth from the fire in the living room hearth and Charlie started to ease the chill out of him. Meeks forgot about the newspaper under his arm as he nudged his face into Charlie's warm chest. He released a sound of protest when Charlie leaned forward, taking his body heat with him, to stub out his cigarette but then returned. He didn't finch when Steven's cold nose pressed into his neck with a small murmur or satisfaction. The most Charlie did was slide Meeks's glasses off, snagging them once behind Steven's cold ear before Charlie cleaned them with the hem of his shirt beneath his grey heather sweatshirt and gently threw them to join the ashtray.

He returned to the attentions of Steven, smirking to see his eyes closed. With a soft smile, Charlie touched their noses together gently and Steven's amber eyes opened slowly. There was a shared breath, intimate before the spaced closed between them and Charlie had Steven in a slow languid kiss. Charlie was too comfortable to inform Steven that dinner was ready as they nuzzled each other silently. The only nose was the melting silver of the rain politely tapping on the window and the occasional purring meow from their chocolate Siamese that had decided to jump up on the couch and join them; curling into Charlie's much dryer lap.

Charlie's hand ran over Coon's soft fur before he tilted his head on Steven's wet hair . It would dry in time.


	3. Frog

Todd was laughing, his mouth sideways as if he was trying to hide his amusement as Neil urged him to follow with bright eager eyes. Todd rolled his shoulders, cleared his throat before he leaned down to pat Neil on the back affectionately. "No, Neil, no," His voice continued to hold its mirth as he shook his head. "I'm not going to Leap Frog with you to Chemistry. Go ask Charlie."


	4. Loosing My Religion

_Round and round, Ferris wheel…_

This was the first time Steven was allowed to stay awake for one of his parents garden parties, it was important for a man of eight to be allowed into the shushing grass while the delicate noise of tinkling China clattered behind him. Solemn bluesy greens of conversation hummed through the air, ever so often accented with yellow laughter. This was it, finally it, one of those elusive parent conventions Steven had never been allowed to before.

And it was quite boring.

He had been so excited earlier, listening to his sister complain that he shouldn't be allowed and his mother combing his hair. She was wearing her finest pearls that night, the string of white ones that had a gradient that started from the smallest, fattened out in the middle and then thinned out again so Steven knew it was going to be a big night.

Rectangular paper lanterns, the soothing sea tope kind, were strung up on string between poles to let the guests know their lines of confinement. Guests started arriving at three and soon their vast lawn had men with pipes, pastel polos and muted sports jackets with pressed trousers mushroomed all across it. Each grinning man had his matching wife; Steven found the tan ones with thinning hair had loud wives with fashionable dresses and complicated hair. The others, like his father, were alone; their respective partners having a cool sip of punch with modest dresses that ballooned into wide skirts of various, soft colours off to the side.

Around five o' clock, he had started to get fidgety. It was only thirty minutes until dinner started yet, sitting with the adults wasn't anywhere near as fun as family dinners. There seemed to be no one else his age about as Steven craned his neck. He did, however, see his sister and she stuck her tongue out at him, which he mirrored, before she flipped her hair and continued talking to some of her friends.

At five thirty he was on an exotic island, the sole survivor of an airplane crash and had to make do with nature until another plane came to his rescue. Lucky for him, buried beneath some boulders was a plate of steaming (and Kosher) Spaghetti with too thick slices of hot garlic bead.

Five forty he was the Red Baron who was in the middle of a war with other planes that were painted strikingly similar to the adults sitting around him.

Five forty-_two_ his plane crashed and was captured by the enemy. They told him not to return until desert was served. That was fine because he slithered down off his chair and ran underneath the table. A hand to his mouth stifled a giggle as he looked at all the legs splayed out in front of him that wrinkled his mother's long white tablecloths.

So he ran. He ran like Robin Hood dodging traps set by his nemesis Sheriff. It was only at the end when Steven crawled out from the tables he realized that he didn't have a maid Marian but that hardly mattered. Girls had cooties anyway. His friend, Richard Cameron, have given him a shot for fifteen cents to keep girl germs from infecting him. Of course, Richard said that the shot only lasted for a week so Steven would have t come back with another fifteen cents next Monday. Steven winced, running to the back of the yard, as he decided he was long over due for another one.

To the left of the backwards C shaped formation the tables, there was a large crooked Oak tree and spanning from the tree to the house, a steep hill-prime location for winter sledding-cupped the end of the Meeks's Land. Behind it, there was field, forest and a river with a stony bech that was fun to hang around in the summer It was on top of that very hill that Steven was scrambling.

He was sure he'd hear Lois, their maid, sighing about the grass stains in his pants later but all that mattered was that Huckleberry Fin got away from his cruel old Father which is exactly what he did when he vaulted himself over the hill and onto a mound nothing like the grass he was used to. "Ow! Get off!"

Steven didn't have anytime to do so as he was kicked off whatever he had landed on. "Sorry, didn't see you…"

"That's the whole _point_." Steven sat on the grass haplessly, adjusting his glasses and looking at the intruder of his sanctuary. Skinny kid, slightly smaller than himself who had shed his jacket and had a smattering of green and brown smudges across his white, formal shirt. His brown hair was fine and messy but it was the curious white cloth across his face that Steven was most interested in.

"Is…is that a _napkin_ around you head?" Steven adjusted his eyeglasses, leaning into the intruder with a curious expression.

"It's an eye-patch!" The other boy shoved Steven out of his personal space with an defensive expression and a tone of voice that backed it up. "I've been _injured_, you know." Steven blinked dubiously at the other boy with missing teeth.

"How?" Steven's tone of voice hinted that he _really_ didn't want to know.

"I was _shot,_" He smiled as Steven's face brightened with curiosity. _Hook line and sinker_ "_yeah_," He continued in a dramatic whisper, "Damn Krauts crawling all over the place-" He swung a stick as long as his arm at Steven with his brown eyes thinning into suspicion. "You aren't a _Kraut_, are you?"

"N-no…I'm a…Jew."

"Good, then it's my job to protect you." He stated as Steven frowned, not quite understanding how everything worked at present. He did know that introductions were in order so it was his job to make one.

He stuck out his right palm in an official sort of way, "I'm Steven Meeks." He was relieved when he felt the expected squeeze retuned.

"M'name is Charles Dalton…call me Charlie."

* * *

"I love _Winter_!" Charlie shouted, inhaling the frozen air deeply as he stood on top of Fred. He and Meeks had christened the hill in Steven's backyard Fred when they were eleven. Neither one could remember why, it had just seemed appropriate at the time.

"I love not having school." Steven muttered as he dragged his sled up next to Charlie's.

His comment was met with a noise of agreement. "Me too." They paused and sat down on the toboggan that Charlie had dragged up the hill and stared at the white world. "How's your eye?" Charlie reached towards Steven's face but Steven blocked Charlie's hand, his gloves touching the yellow, green and brown skin in question.

"Better, better…I mean, It's been okay for awhile…it wasn't too long ago when I couldn't even open my eye…your lip?"

"Fine, it's good-healed…" There was a thick pause before Charlie chuckled darkly, his hands folded over his knees. "Those bastards…they stuff they were saying to you-_doing_ to you…I coulda killed 'em." He shook his head, feeling as though the fight he had interrupted and continued in place of Steven wasn't enough.

"Charlie," Steven's hand was on his arm in silent thanks. " You did what you could. Mike was expelled-don't worry about it. It's over."

"So…you're really leaving?"

Steven turned to look at Charlie, spitting out the grey wool that was his scarf when he turned his head. "Yeah, yeah I'm leaving."

"Boarding school, huh?"

"Yeah. Boarding school." Steven didn't want to think about it. He liked where he was and he didn't want to even think about what it would be without Charlie there.

"Sounds boring." Steven couldn't help but laugh, rubbing his gloved hands together to try and keep out the cold.

"It _will_ be boring, Charlie. _Everything _is boring without you." Steven had stood, his knees cracking with effort. He looked to Charlie and tried to figure out what their next move was going to be. "Ninth grade will be _awful_."

"Ninth grade _will_ be awful." Charlie nodded, shifting his weight comfortably at the front of the toboggan, his mittened hands pulled at the reins. "You know," He looked over to Meeks with a squinted expression. "I really _hate_ mittens. C'mon then." He gestured for Steven to sit on the back of the sleigh, as the extra weight would increase the speed.

"I don't know why," Steven's breath was pushed out of him as he sat down behind Charlie and adjusted himself, hands on Charlie's sides. "You still wear the stupid things. Ready?"

"Ready."

"Go!"

A loud yell echoed as the two slid down Fred's steep face and continued to race down Steven's backyard. It was great fun until the sled hit something and abruptly stopped, however, the two boys kept going and landed in a painful pile with a thud.

"Whoo hoo! That was fun!" Charlie cheered, supporting himself up on his arms as Steven groaned and coughed beneath him. "You okay?"

"Fine." Steven wheezed and Charlie grinned, towering over him.

"C'mon, you don't _sound_ fine." Charlie teased as Steven lamely rolled from side to side, trapped under his friend.

"Fine." Steven tried again with more conviction but failed, that attempt sounded as unconvincing as the last.

"Steven," Charlie's voice made him stop and look up to his friend. Charlie's face hovered above him, Steven swallowed thickly. "I _really_ don't want you to go."

Whatever fun they had been having, it was now squeezed out by how serious Charlie was. The change was so sudden Steven uncomfortable and a little bewildered. He never had to leave someone before and reassure then it'd be okay.

Steven opened his mouth to reply, but Charlie just shook his head; eyes pleading. "No, you _don't_ know…" Slowly, Charlie lowered his face, their noses brushed as their cloudy breath mingled. Steven's eyes snapped wide. He watched Charlie, his expression soft.

Adrenaline thumped through his ears he was so nervous and confused. It was really Charlie's expression that had him so nervous. He felt like he was suffocating as Charlie closed the narrow proximity between them; his heartbeat in his ears as he felt Charlie's lips alight on his mouth. "_You really don't know…_"

The snow seeped into Steve's back, freezing his neck and caught in the mittens that were cupping his chilled face. Charlie's eyes were shut; brows furrowed as if he was concentrating and drinking every moment of this in. His lips were cold, chapped but inviting as he gently pressed down into Steven's mouth. Steven could feel his complexion reddening as his eyes started to slide shut, loosing himself in this new, hot feeling that enveloped both his stomach and groin.

"Get. _Off_. My. Son." Charlie was yanked up by the collar of his coat and heaved away from Steven who was still buried in the snow and pretty sure his heart had stopped beating. He couldn't hear, only see his father hurl curses-both in Hebrew and English-towards Charlie. Steven watched his friend back away, arms raised in silent surrender before he turned and fled through the snow.

He was so confused-and _sad_-as he watched Charlie run away. His Father asked him questions helping Steven to his feet and invaded his personal space. "M'_fine_ Dad." He mumbled as he was ushered into the house. He didn't see Charlie again.

Steven, however, was plagued with the thought of Charlie and begged for an answer as to why-well, he had an answer but it was one he didn't want to face.

* * *

The next time he went to school, he was at Welton. Being the new kid in the middle of the year is never easy especially when this is the second school Steven ever attended and there was no Charlie with his easy humor and laid back smile. There was his roommate Neil, and a friend of his, Gerard who was easy enough to get along with. It could've been worse. The real problem was every time Steven touched his fingers to his mouth, he remembered Charlie. His first kiss had been in the snow with another boy-Steven was pretty sure that _wasn't_ supposed to happen but it had felt _amazing_.

He was so conflicted, everything he was raised to believe had just been brought into question by a tiny act. Alright, tiny act in comparison to the _History of the world_-however, it was quite a _huge_ act to Steven. He knew that mishkav zakhar, a homosexual act, was forbidden. The last thing he wanted to think about was he or Charlie going to Hell.

That night Neil listened, for the first time, to Steven Meeks pray. "_Mal kei nu ve kar'vei nu le tora te kha a vi nu ha shi vei nu…_" He didn't know Hebrew but listening to it murmured in the stillness of the night, "_Le fa ney kha she le mah bit shu vah ve ha cha zi rei nu le a vo da te kha,_" Made it sound like a sort of spell. The hollow sound of Steven's voice belied how tormented he felt and the tears he was blinking away with his hands nervously clenched at his sleeves. "_Bit shu vah ha ro tseh Adonai at tah ba ruhk_." He figured that Steven must have thought Neil was asleep as a shuddering breath was inhaled. "_Forgive __**us**__… ki mal kei nu la nu me chal cha ta nu ki a vi nu la nu se lach…"_

Summer came, Neil had respectfully never asked Steven what he said that night-or following ones as the anxious pit twisted, strengthened and deepened in the Jewish boy's stomach. He _had_ to see Charlie-he was going to too. Steven didn't know how or when but he _would_ damnit.

When he got home, stepped out of the car, he couldn't help but falter. He fell back against the car and stared at his house. What if Charlie hated him now for what had happened? What if he had moved on, found someone new-shit! What if he had _moved_?! Suddenly Steven found himself sprinting, ignoring the calls behind him and the shouts of question.

Only when he reached Charlie's and knocked up the door, panting heavily, he was informed by Mrs. Dalton that Charlie would be in New York all summer long.

As Steven trudged home, his chest felt heavy. Charlie gone? _All_ summer?! In a twisted way, perhaps Steven deserved this. He hoped anyhow that Charlie was having fun because his summer looked pretty uneventful.

Which it was. Even when he spent a week with Neil, it was uneventful. Not that it was Neil's fault, it was just that Steven missed Charlie _so_ much sometimes he thought he'd go _insane._

_

* * *

  
_

By the time school started again, the redhead had yet to hear word or see a hair of the elusive Mr. Dalton. As Meeks packed into his Father's car for the lengthily journey back to _Hellton_ , it looked like he wouldn't see Charlie anytime soon. He could only hope for Christmas break.

Scenery was swallowed as the car hummed along the roads and Steven stared out the car windows, feeling like he had lost something besides the freedom of summer. He'd lost out on his friend, too.

The first day was when Welton always seemed its most lively but Steven was having none of it. It hurt to see everyone with their good friends as they joked and swapped stories with each other. "Steven, the open ceremony is going to start soon." His mother's hand appeared on his back, clearly noting his disgruntled state.

"I don't feel so good." He muttered and Mrs. Meeks nodded, understanding how he could be nervous returning to boarding school.

"Tell you what, why don't you stay out here in the fresh air, your Father and I will go to the ceremony and cover for you, all right?" Steven couldn't have agreed faster. "Where will you be?"

"The dock at the river." Steven said, figuring that it was a calm place with good cover. It was a little slice of home, he decided, unlacing his shoes and pulling of his socks. He had collected some lovely flat rocks, perfect for skipping. With his pant legs rolled up, he sat at the edge of the dock, legs in the _freezing_ cold water.

With a rock in his right hand, he reared back and flung it across the water.

_Plop plop plop _plop.

…Three skips? _Seriously?_ That was _pathetic_. He smiled as he skipped another one, seven skips weren't so bad. He had done this with Charlie-maybe he'd write to him this year. If he thought hard enough about it-five skips-he could probably remember Charlie's address. It was similar to his o-seven skips-wn anyway. Twelve ski-_twelve skips?!_ He hadn't even thrown his rock yet!

Another rocky skidded out across the lake in front of him. Steven counted fourteen before he frowned, wondering from whence it had came. "You're not holding it properly," The voice behind him was reprimanding. "I've told you a-_million_ times to hold it," Steven's hand was grabbed, fingers adjusted around the flat stone. "Like _this_. Go." Steven flung the stone and counted. Twelve, _pretty_ good well, compared to the other ones at least.

He looked behind him to see no other than Charlie Dalton crouching behind him, watching the stone's ripples out in the water. Steven was lost for words as he stared at his friend, his face golden in the orange sunlight. "Heya Meeksie." Charlie flashed him a grin, trying to not waver and give away how nervous he was. It was 100% probable that Steven hated hi but Charlie would have to take that chance, wouldn't he?

"You-what are you doing-"

"I go to school here. Transferred just this year. I asked my parents pretty please." Charlie laughed at Steven's utter confusion; it was cute, really.

"You…_bastard_." With Steven's expression so placid, Charlie wasn't sure how to take the comment. He wittily stared and blinked at Steven. "No, _really_ you-infuriating-maniacal-"

"Easy Tiger." Charlie slung and arm around Steven's shoulders, not noticing how his friend reddened immediately. "Don't start things you can't finish." Steven's mouth fell open, scoffing.

"You're kidding m-you're _kidding,_ right?"Steven turned to look at his friend incredulously as Charlie started to feel uncomfortable and withdrew his arm.

"Not really no. Don't play games with the big boys." Charlie retained his careless and smug attitude. That was until Steven pushed him.

"I'm talking about _you_! How can you sit there-I haven't seen you in a good number of _months_-'Don't start things you can't finish'-you _kissed_ me and _left_!" Steven wasn't the least bit nervous anymore. He had known Charlie for years.

Charlie's face changed into irritance. "If I remember correctly you weren't too angry when your Father threw me out, _Steven_."

"Okay, so I was scared-I am scared." Steven corrected himself.

"This is a silly chapter isn't it?" Charlie spouted off suddenly, catching Steven completely off guard.

"No, I didn't think so." He countered, adjusting his glasses, all traces of angst gone.

"Well, you can't seem to make up your mind, it's lacking in emotions and personally I'm done with it." Charlie returned his arms around Steven's shoulder, pulling him close. "We don't have to be so bloody dramatic about this-authors never seem to have any idea about what they drool out anyway…can I kiss you, again?" Charlie hugged him close, grinning as Steven relaxed into his chest.

"Yeah, all right." Steven tilted his face up as Charlie leaned down, pressing their mouths together for a short moment. "That wasn't so bad. We'll get to fire works later."

"Hmmur, I don't want to go to Hell Charlie." Steven sighed, pushing away from him only to have Charlie grab him back and skip a stone. "This is forbidden."

"Contraband even. Yet here we are." He snuggled down closer, his chin sitting in the curve of Steven's neck.

"Charlie," Steven said, whining slightly. This was a no-win situation and the fact that this chapter continues to piddle on wasn't helping either. "I mean it, you know?"

"Oh my little…Pierogi-"

"-_what-._"

"You're still here-never said you didn't like it."

"You're going to make me loose my mind Charlie."

"Or your religion, whichever comes first."

"We _really_ should have done this in the first few lines." Steven nodded, feeling content for once.

"Sooo…" Charlie trailed off awkwardly, "Can the chapter end now so I can shag you?"

"...no."

* * *

Goddamit. Don't hate me. I know I do enough already.

I'm sorry, I just lost it and I wanted this to be finished so I could move the fuck on. I hate my writing style, I'm trying to change, honest.

Don't review, I **r ****e a l l y **understand**. **

I apologize about the Hebrew prayer-I'm sure I've committed some sort of unspeakable sin by destroying the Jewish faith and for that I am most utterly and truly sorry. Please don't condemn me, I'm learning.

Whoever guesses what song this was based off, I will write whatever you want by whenever you want. Cross my heart.


	5. Evening

The first time John Keating was kissed, it had been unorthodox. Completely unorthodox-but that's what he and all his friends were all about anyway. The very rubber foundation of rebellion, as quiet as they all were.

He had been out in the cave with his friend Samuel. The rest of the lads had gone in, wimping out against the bitter cold. Sammy and John had persevered against the elements, small bubbles of laughter popping from their lips.

"You look ethereal, John." Sammy idly dragged a finger across the jagged rocks, his voice an octave lower than what it had been a moment ago. John blinked at the sudden subject change. They had just been talking about Perry's ears and now…now he didn't know _what _they were talking about.

Being the 'nice guy' John was labeled as, he laughed warmly. If anyone looked ethereal, it would have been the pixie looking boy with startling blond hair and petit features sitting next to John. "Sammy-"

"My mother got a telegram last week." His light voice closed into his chest, as if Sammy was having a hard time speaking what he planned in his mind. John's heart sank; getting a telegram in 1943 meant a few things, generally nothing good. "Richard's dead."

"Oh _God._" John gasped, responding immediately as Sammy continued to draw nothing idly on the rock. He didn't know what was worse, the fact that he had been good friends with Sam's older brother or the fact that Sam had just told him like he was asking for a homework assignment. "Sam I…I'm so, _so_ sorry-I…I don't know what to say…_Jesus_."

"Well that's a first." Sam muttered into his chest darkly before he looked up, his blue eyes pouring into John's. "No, _I'm_ sorry. I know you two were pretty good friends. I'm sorry." His voice lacked emotion-it horrified John.

"Sam, he was _your brother_-" John stopped himself short, once again speechless. Sammy continued to idly drag his fingertips down the veins of rock, staring distractedly at his scuffed brown loafers.

Sam jerked, surprised as John's comforting hand slid unobtrusively down the navy blue fabric of his thick, wool coat. The smooth glide of his hand was interrupted, jagged as Keating readjust and shifted closer so that their sides were pressed up against each other. "When did you find out?"

"Thursday last week." Sammy said, his voice small and tender as he leaned back into John's touch, letting it warm his insides.

"…Jesus…_Jesus_ why didn't you tell me?"

"…I had to write it down. Preserve the memory, the initial reaction." Sammy retained the far away look in his eyes as John considered scolding him and _how dare he treat such news as nothing more than fodder for his writing projects_. Sammy muttered something inaudible-John's response being a silent question on his face. "I said I _miss_ him. I've always missed him. Fuck _John_. My _Brother_." Sammy's pointed face twisted in a cocktail of emotions, trying to bury the overwhelming need to cry. "I feel so _cold_." He longed to just feel numb.

Keating appeared to have other ideas as he pulled Sam closer and the two fell into a hug that left Sam feeling ridiculously fevered. "John." He looked down into his friend's blue eyes, inquiry hanging between them.

John flinched as cold fingers brushed his chin. It was an out of body experience as Sam caught his chin between his thumb and forefinger, navigating John's warm face lower until with a hitched sigh, Sammy joined their mouths tenderly.

Sam's pale eyelashes fluttered against Keating's cheek. The fact that Sam's mouth was soft came to no surprise-nor did the wet sound of John breaking the kiss. "Sam, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for your loss but, _Sam_, I'm _not_…I'm not." John stated firmly. He had just been kissed by one of his best mates-the intellectual one with sad, soulful eyes who was now kneeling I front of him.

"I know," Sam whispered, closing in. "I know John," a kiss was set behind John's ear before Sammy retracted to look him in the eye. "It's no small secret I've been after you for awhile-please," He pleaded quietly, like an injured lamb. "Please John, one evening. Just pretend with me for one night that it's okay, that it's normal and that you like me too."

Keating didn't know whether to laugh or cry as he rubbed a hand over his newly rubberized face. This was insanity there was no way-damn Samuel and his kicked puppy eyes. He had just lost his brother for God's sakes! Damn this guilt.

His hands encircled Sammy's wrists. "One evening-_one_...I can be yours." He stressed, feeling far too guilty and sympathetic to say otherwise.

There was a nod, a silent understanding before Sammy shut his eyes and overtook John's mouth with his own; his fingers firmly kneaded in John's hair.

* * *

_Did I seriously just write that?_

_...Looks like I did. I believe apologies are in oder.  
_

_With any luck when I finish this and To The Future I'll start a story on the origin of DPS. Look forward to seeing Sammy again. And Jay. And Tom Perry. And Stanley "the tool" Wilson. Yeah._


	6. Shut the Door

It had been a terrible photo.

Charlie was Camera happy-point, shoot and shake. Polaroids were bloody fantastic that way-shame that in his excitement he accidentally ruined most of the photos he snapped.

"I like this one." Knox had lifted a damaged one off the dead leaves that blanketed the dry cave floor. From where Todd was sitting, it looked like a mass of a discolored brown blur-disappointing-and continued shuffling through the others that lay scattered across the ground. "Have a look Neil." Knox's arm stretched out to Neil who in turn accepted it lazily.

"Todd," The blonde's attention snapped to his name, "C'mere, have a look at this." Neil stared at the square in his hand a flick of his head beckoned his friend over to his side.

"It's ruined." Todd sniffed dubiously, he was aware of the chuckled hiss that escaped from Neil's mouth and the swish of his hair as he shook his head.

"No, here, _look_…"

And Todd did, accepting the square between his fingers as he tried to ignore the eyesores of the under developed and damaged brown clouds.

Between the ugly smudges there were two people, both Neil and Todd-laughing. Neil's hand was on Todd's shoulder, a comfortable gesture. The only other object that could be made out in the disaster of a picture was the faint outline of the curving road on which they stood, a faint outline of grass, trees, littering leaves, the faded stone of the building next to them but what stood out clearly was Welton's intimidating clock in the background. 11:15 it announced.

"I like it, actually…" Todd turned the picture in his hands, examining Neil's frozen smile.

"I knew you would. See, All you had to do was _look_, give it a second chance."

Now that picture of friend and time was all that Todd had left of his best friend. It seemed like an ominous omen now rather than a simple picture.

Todd cursed himself for not seeing it, there _must_ have been foreshadowing-_damnit Neil!_ Why didn't you ever take your own advice?! You're a bastard, Neil…I miss you so much it hurts. Why didn't you _tell_ me?

I could've saved you…

And that's the last thought in Todd's mind as he silently stares at the preserved memory, the square omen, in his hand and he quietly shuts the wooden door.

_Click._


	7. Dirty

_Ugh…Christ, wh-what the fu-is that dirt?_ Charlie rolled on his side as he started to cough. Stale alcohol, blood and the unmistakable taste of dirt lined his mouth as he pushed himself upright.

Red was the color he saw with his eyes closed, the ground was cold, grainy and soft. "Uggh fuuck." He coughed again and cracked his eyes, a hand shadowed his face from the bright light he was faced with. "…The fuck? Where the…where the _hell_…" He staggered to his feet, stumbling forward as he sleepily tried to regain his balance. "Am…I?" his fatigued stupor melted away into fear almost immediately.

His wrecked car hissed beside him in the ditch he had woken up in as wind whipped around his cut and bruised face, blowing fine grains of sand into his eyes. "Shit." He tried to walk to his crashed blue car, something tripped him up and Charlie ended up on his knees with a displeased grunt. It was then he realized the soft thing one of his hands had landed on was a shirt, _his_ shirt, a shirt no longer packed away in the suitcase he had been living out of for the past three weeks. "Oh.. son of a-_seriously_?" He squinted at the surroundings around him to see that somehow or another his suitcase had indeed exploded, clothes were everywhere. "I really have to stop feeling sorry for myself."

For someone who could've potentially died in a head on collision, Charlie wasn't too rattled. As far as he was concerned the nadir of his life was ongoing and it couldn't get any worse. His mom had always said that life could never throw anything at you that you couldn't handle. _Yeah, right._

Charlie sat back, retrieving a crushed pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, a dull ache pulsed, a fading reminder of the cocaine fading through his bloodstream. He sighed, slumping in exasperation when he realized he was left without a source that would light the damn cigarette.

Charlie palmed his face, pausing to stare down at his hands. Skin was marred with past and present bruising, the faint scrapes of blood and the weeping cuts on his knuckles only heightened the appearance of some sort of illness that Charlie felt infected his head more than anywhere else.

He was dirty.

Charlie remembered a time when that word had been so different…_dirty_. Usually a joke or a half-assed attempt at seduction until he and the other burst into fits of laughter. Dirty had never suited either one of them…and now look at Charlie. His skin was tan-and not because of the sun.

* * *

"I'm going to tell you…_exactly_ what I'm going to do to you…"

Sigh of exasperation. "For the _love_ of _God_, Charlie. Please _don't_ start this again." Thinly veiled amusement and Charlie pouted. His chin leaving a phantom feeling behind on Steven's shoulder before Charlie sat on the floor next to the couch where Steven was sprawled. "You know your pathetic attempts at _dirty talk_ are more _amusing_ than anything else."

Charlie was uncharacteristically quiet, smiling as he palmed the pale and freckled hand that Steven was laxly hanging in front of him. "Studying." It was stated more to let Charlie know that Steven wasn't ignoring him rather than to warn Charlie off.

"You're always studying." Words whispered into Steven's knuckles followed closely by Charlie's dry lips.

Steven swallowed, the reports in his other hand slipping away slightly as he started to not care. "Glad your home again." His voice was thicker as Charlie worked his way across Steven's wrist. The dry sound of shuffled papers let Charlie know that he had won and was now the sole focus of Steven's diligent attention. "Missed you." His arm curled around Charlie's head, drawing him in close and pressing a kiss to his carless brown hair.

"Believe me when I say…I missed you _much_ more."

Time and time again it was proven that the infamous _"dirty talk"_ wasn't needed of course, that couch scene was a memory long past. Even with Charlie recovered, he still managed to prove to himself that he couldn't do it. He couldn't stay clean. The pull, the need, lust, burn and desire for that _stupid_…stupid drug…won again.

Charlie was dirty, he had left to protect the one clean aspect of his life.


	8. Clean

Denver, at four in the afternoon, was…inconspicuous. Steven's hands tightened around the steering wheel of his battered yellow Beetle, his eyes flicking across the desolate, domestic streets. He could _kill_ Charlie for this, a thought that he constantly reiterated to stop the sinking feeling that perhaps Steven had missed Charlie in a different state, or in a different city.

That _idiot_, disappearing like this. At first Steven thought that perhaps Charlie needed his space but soon as week three had rolled around and there had been no word, Steven was out the door, in his beat up car and combing the cracked streets. Steven would stay in Denver until he found Charlie, he swore it to himself-and to that whopping idiot. There was no other place Charlie could be, Denver was the heart of the beatnik revolution, where Kerouac had met Cassidy and where Ginsberg had likened the two as Gods. If Charlie was anywhere, he was _here._

However, Steven was doubtful. He had parked his car downtown in front of the painted window of a grocery store. It was _empty_, not exactly what he had been expecting. With his wallet in his back pocket, keys and a photograph of Charlie in his hand, Steven took to the streets asking the same question he had been asking for the past six days. "Excuse me, I'm looking for my friend, Charlie Dalton. He's in a bit of trouble-" He'd surrender the photo calmly, "Have you seen him? He might look a little different now, longer hair, unshaven…" The responses were usually unhelpful.

Steven questioned shop employees, he wove in between cafes, hotels, motels, malls-_everywhere_. All the time with a hardened expression of unflinching determination.

The sky darkened, the paper lanterns that had been shed skins suddenly bloomed into life and mismatched colours. People were drawn out from their houses in their most colourful clothing as butterflies from cocoons. Denver in the day time was a poor comparison to the thrumming life that flourished at night.

At about eight O' clock at night, The clerk in the Apothecary recognized Charlie with an pitying expression. "Yeah," He exhaled, an older man with a round nose and a friendly face that matched his large figure. "I know him, comes in for some odd things every now and then. Doesn't look well, that's for sure. I've seen him at, uh, Furthur. Nice little café…" Most of what he said was lost to the thudding of Steven's heart that resounded in his ears. Steven could've cried, he was so _relieved_-Charlie was _alive_. If _anything_ he was simply _alive_. "I got him a back room job here on the weekdays, three to five because I felt so bad for the kid-"

"You said something about Furthur?" Steven was rushed, excited and exhilarated. Moist palms were on the counter as he leaned towards the man eagerly. "Please, I _need_ to find him-as soon as possible-it's an _emergency_." He pleaded and the other man shrugged, asking Steven if he wanted him to draw a map to Furthurs.

* * *

"_Des yeux qui font baisser les miens_," Chelsea, a townie with a sinful looking body and luxurious long brown hair, purred her sultry voice into the microphone. "_Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche_," Her voice carried through the mellow café accompanied by Arthur's nimble fingers on the piano. It was late enough at this point for most of the customers to be in a lazy drunken haze or under the influence of some of the harder stuff that was passed around that she didn't have to make a huge show. "_Voilà le portrait sans retouche_," Her eyes landed on the slumped single figure in the first row. A split second of guilt passed through as she remembered that Charlie, some crazy cat she had become acquainted with recently, absolutely loathed _La Vie en Rose_. Then again, he always looked miserable-the price of being an artist.

"Excuse me, pardon-sorry," Steven slid through the groups of people that littered the steps down into the milky atmosphere where smoke caught the blue and purple lights in a somber halo.

"_De l'homme auquel j'appartiens…quand il me prend dans ses bras_," Steven tried to remain calm, composed as he dodged the colourful people on his way to the luminescent bar.

"Excuse me," He started again with the photo in his hand. That question was pretty much burned into his brain, tattooed there along with Charlie.

"_Il me parle tout bas, je vois la vie en rose. Il me dit des mots d'amour,_" Ice cubes clinked together in the heart amber liquid as the glass sweated in Steven's hand. Trust Charlie to find somewhere as hot as this place. And as unsanitary, Steven couldn't help but noting as his vision was filled with messy lipstick, torn skirts, spilt drinks and groping hands. "_Des mots de tous les jours_,"

Steven would swear until the day he died that time slowed as soon as his eyes landed on a familiar beret and shaggy brown hair. His drink almost joined the others on the ground, his sense of determination was the only thing that saved it. _God, Charlie_…Steven's eyes closed briefly, his thought sounding like a prayer.

"_Et ça me fait quelque chos. Il est entré dans mon cœur,_"

Steven played it casual, his heart thudding as he quietly drew the wicker chair next to Charlie out from under the table and sat down. Either Charlie was ignoring him, or hadn't noticed. "Oh _Jesus_." Steven's words pushed through his mouth without thought when his eyes landed on Charlie's hands that were curled on the table next to his empty glass. Steven reached for him, clasping Charlie's hand between his own, a sympathetic gesture.

Charlie's hands weren't the semi-calloused texture anymore. Instead of paint, bruises stained his hands. Steven _loved_ Charlie's hands…

The brunet seemed to wake from his pensive stupor. Brown eyes blinking in a puzzled face as he saw Steven, his jaw slack. "_Une part de Bonheur dont je connais la cause,_" The song filled the potential awkward silence that threatened the pair as they stared at each other.

"What were you drinking, rum or whiskey?" Steven tipped Charlie's glass, trying to find a distraction, something that would put off the inevitable feeling of a break down. Charlie had a slow collective blink, not entirely understanding what was happening. "Oh, for the love…" Exasperation stamped through Steven as he rolled his eyes and tucked his chair as close to Charlie as he could. Dropping his hand Steven's pristine hands cupped the brunet's face. "Don't leave me again."

"I…I wasn-" Charlie tried to shift away, uncomfortable, scared and confused. "I…you shouldn't be here." Steven let him fold back into himself with a small smile of affection.

"You _idiot_, Charlie. I'm not _leaving_ you here."

"I broke up with you." Charlie folded his arms, returning to a facet of himself-a good sign.

"Well, I don't accept that." Steven shrugged, swirling the contents of his drink around on the table as the song continued huskily. "I'm bringing you _home_ Charlie, whether you come willingly or not-because I _love_ you, because you do a crap job at protecting me or whatever you think it is that you're doing. Because…I miss your dirty talk." Steven added shyly with an attempt at lightening the mood. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry as Charlie stared at him incredulously.

Suddenly Charlie laughed, almost dispersing all of the tension before it turned into a sob. "_God_," was the only coherent word that was heard before Steven folded his arms back around him, holding Charlie as close as he could.

"I should kill you, I _could_ kill you...damn it Charlie, just let _me_ help _you _for once." His fingers traced Charlie's face, idly memorizing the curves before determination struck him. "C'mon Charlie, let's get out of here..."

* * *

_...Hi, remember me? I can hardly blame you if you don't-sorry that THIS is my comeback upload. It doesn't seem to have the urgency I wanted it to have and I dunno how to fix it. Any suggestions would be fantastic!_


	9. Punch

Steven Meeks was having possibly the worst day of his life.

First off, there had been a power out during the night and his alarm clock had reset itself resulting in him missing an hour of his first class. When he had frantically attempted to get dressed, he had lost his balance while tugging on his tan corduroy trousers and fell into the corner of his bedside table-his right knee was literally bluer than the sky. The first shirt he had pulled on had been attacked by some of Charlie's leftover gum and resulted in a string of disgusted swears before Steven had haphazardly found a folded white one in his closet...that he then managed to get his toothpaste all over. With an incredulous look and a roll of his eyes he trudged off to change again-this time into a form fitting black t-shirt. That made him look _pretty_ gay-or so he thought. Unfortunately, he really didn't have time to go rummaging for another one so he went off racing to his car before doing a u-turn back to his shard home to get his school satchel and attempt again.

Steven probably hit every red-light in Chicago that morning.

When he _finally_ got to school, his Ethics in Broadcasting class was over and Mrs. Linders had an earful for him because of it. Turns out it was one of the more important lessons and there was an essay she assigned on the National Public Radio's News Code of Ethics that was due on Thursday. Steven apologized profusely-he promised to go straight to the library and finish it so he could turn it in early. However, when he got to the library all of the document monitors were occupied so when he tried to resort back to books, he found a couple in the back of the library making out on the section he needed to get to.

"Ex-excuse me?" He awkwardly tried to extract their attention over their wet and sloppy sounding saliva swap. They continued to ignore him as the curly dark haired girl hooked her leg over the intimidating looking man's waist. "L-look I need, I need to get behind you-see, I need to draw some examples from some of the presidential broadcasts, namely the ones by Truman like uh, when he announced the commitment of the United States to the defense of South Korea in the summer of 1950 and you're not listening to a damn word I'm saying so I hope you get pregnant, you get diseased and that you both get into a car crash that makes you loose all your limbs-including your dick, have a nice day, goodbye."

His frustration abruptly flipped to desperation as he dragged himself out of the Library. Charlie didn't have any classes on Tuesday, with any luck he'd be at home still...

Steven slotted his quarter into the pay phone, dialed his number a patiently waited for the phone to be answered. He got to seven rings before it did.

"Bonjour! This is the Dalton pad of sweet lovin', how may I make your fantasies a reality?"

That was one of the stupidest greetings Steven had ever gotten but the sound of Charlie's voice made him exhale a world of tension. This was the first thing to go right today.

"...Hi, Charlie..." He muttered into the phone, feeling stupid and chickish that he had called.

"...Steven?" Charlie sounded incredulous and he lost all traces of his previous joking tone. "What's wrong?"

"I just..." _wanted to hear your voice_. "Uhm...I was wondering-"_if you'd come get me after work._ "-I mean, I wanted to make sure you hadn't like, _died_ or anything...wanted to make sure you were awake." _because I'm having the worst day ever and...you can fix it..._

Steven heard Charlie moving on the other side of the phone. Although Steven had tried to sound convincing, it was obvious his heart wasn't in it. "So...like, you wanna have phone sex?" Although Charlie intended it to sound like a joke, he was a little too concerned to focus on it.

"Yes, in public, outside the school library." Steven deadpanned. "I'm wearing a parka, how about you?"

"A thong." There was a pause before Steven burst out laughing at the absurd mental image. "What?" Charlie crackled through the plastic receiver, "Don't laugh! It gives me the support I need!" The redhead's laughter died down to a hum.

"Thanks Charlie, I'll see you soon." Steven was overcome with a sense of warmth and the feeling that everything might look up as soon as he hung up the phone.

"Meeksie, I love you."

Damn Charlie and his blunt, affluent eloquence. "Y-yeah, I-um...Iloveyoutoo. See you after work."

"See you after work." Charlie reaffirmed.

Steven hung up. All good feelings gone-he should stayed talking to Charlie longer. He was tempted to call him back but then he'd probably self-loathe himself to death if he did. He always felt like such a _girl_ when it came to Charlie.

Lunch, which was where Steven exasperatedly trudged off to next, was made worse when some random student ran into Steven and spilled hot coffee all down his shirt. The only plus side to that was the black shirt didn't show the coffee. Just a massive _wet_ area-that had burned like a thousand suns for a few skin-peeling milliseconds.

By the time he was done trying to blot the now _freezing_ liquid out of his shirt, his watch informed him that he was a stark fifteen minutes late for work. Fantastic, the studio was twenty minutes away and it usually took a good ten minutes or more to find a parking spot.

With a grim face and clenched hands, Steven sprinted to his Beetle-only knocking over one person, a timid girl in a leg cast and crutches.

_I'm going to hell for that one_ Steven winced as he searched through his brown zip-up coat for his car keys.

If Steven had been a wise man, he wouldn't have gone to work at all. Unfortunately, he was more of a work-my-ass-off student so he stupidly went to work where things only went from horrifically bad to you-must-have-been-a-baby-rapist-in-a-prior-life-because-no-one-deserves-this.

First off, that moron writer, Ken Adams, who was only on the workforce because on of the radio hosts had slept with him, had been promoted from a humble writer to one of the show hosts-a job that Steven had been salivating after since freshman year, Ken denied the song listing that Steven had spent more than a week perfecting and had the sheer audacity to ban Meeks into the sound room to mentor the new sound engineer rookie that was SUPPOSED to make Steven's life easier-which he did not.

While Steven corrected everything the newbie Eddie did, He shot dirty looks at Ken and Jessica. Jessica didn't bother Steven as much as that..._fake_, cartoonishly jawed, ridiculously short, pseudo-intellectual, all black garbed, ascot flaunting, horrifically mundane, ferret faced _moron_. He always squashed an of Steven's suggestions for reasons that the dedicated be-speckled guy could never comprehend.

Things only got worse when there was a ten minute break for advertising, Ken had sneered at the confused Steven as he left for his break. Steven rolled his eyes and decided to leave Newbie's shoulder to finally sit down but Eddie had so _conveniently_ left his jam-filled doughnut in Steven's chair for safe-keeping. Meeks' palm was in his face the second he heard (and felt) the horrible squish. By some miracle he didn't back-hand Eddie's face to Tibet and instead Stomped off to the restroom to try and remove the dark red stain that had nestled so comfortably on the seat of his pants.

He ignored everyone he passed on his way, a storm cloud evident on his face.

Steven was so desperately relieved to find the urinals unoccupied, at least he;d have some privacy as he pathetically attempted to scrub the jam out of his pants. With a wad of paper towels, he went to work, scrubbing, blotting and desperately trying to get the red out of his pants as best he could.

Behind him, a toilet flushed and Steven could feel a facepalm moment fast approaching as he heard a cubicle door squeak open and fall shut. "Have your period so soon?"

_Of all the people I work with, of all the people in this building...it has to be Ken._ Steven bit his tongue and concentrated on the task at hand. "I bet Jessica could lend you some of her _feminine products_ since you seem to be running low." Ken mocked as he lazily examined his appearance and ran a hand over his stylish, black goatee. "This _does_ explain why you've just been _so_ damn _pissy_ today. At least now you can bleed all that sand out of your vagina."

Steven's eye twitched as his hands curled into balls. "I'm sorry, what exactly are you trying to achieve right now?" With a tight expression, Steven turned to face Ken head-on.

"Achieve?" Ken scoffed coolly with neatly folded arms. "I'm just stating the facts-technically, you seem to be in the _wrong bathroom_. That must be _so_ embarrassing." He smirked as Steven felt all of his frustration and anger build up inside of him and take over his impulses.

"You know what? I am _not_ taking your crap today, or ever again-I have had one of the most unfortunate days of my life and I'm pretty sure it's still not over. Most of things that have happened I've had no control over but _you_-" Steven jabbed a finger in Ken's black woolen clad chest, "-I may not _control_ you but I can sure as hell let you know when I'm sick of you! And Ken? _I'm sick of you!"_ There was a light creak off to the side that was almost lost in Steven's angry panting and his frustration increased with Ken's unattractively slanted smirk.

"Whatever _Meek_. I'll let you slide because your hormones are all crazy around this time of mont-" Steven had no idea what had happened. One moment he was plotting how to poison Ken and the next second there was a crack, pain and a distinctive _lack_ of Ken.

"_Ogghhmm mmgh ggoohhmm_!" Steven looked down for the source of pained moans.

Oh.

There was Ken.

He was cradling his face in his hands while curled up on the floor. Steven incredulously brought his right fist up to his face, examining it and trying to comprehend what had happened.

_Clap clap clap_ "That'll do pig, that'll do." Steven saw a different _attractive_ smirk as he turned to the restroom door. "I'm proud of you."

"_Charlie_...?" Steven exhaled, his wave of relief changing to inquiry that furrowed his brow. Charlie shrugged and pocketed his hands in his jeans.

"I said I'll see you after work, came to pick you up. Eddie said you might be in here...I heard there was some unfortunate run-in with a sly and cunning communist pastry-in Soviet Russia, baked goods eat YOU."

"I sat on Eddie's jam doughnut." Steven explain flatly as he stepped over Ken to Charlie's side.

"Yeah I saw that. Red isn't really your colour anyway."

"It clashes with the hair." They added in unison with mirrored grins as Charlie ran an affectionate hand through the wavy hair in question. Charlie linked arms with Steven, pulling him towards the door.

"Let's get the fuck outta here, time to go home so you can cook me dinner." The glare Charlie received was cold enough to freeze his dick into an icicle. "I was KIDDING! Christ!" Charlie proceeded to give Steven a rough shoulder massage all the way to the car.

* * *

The dished clinked together in Charlie's arms as he cleaned off the table and left Steven with his half finished beer. "I've never had pancakes for dinner before," Steven called out to the brunet's retreating back, "Let alone banana ones."

Charlie entered again with empty arms, "Welcome to my world when you're gone." Steven laughed as he stood with the closest removable item he could find before Charlie scolded him. "Believe it or not, but I _can_-and will-clean up after dinner. Just sit your boney, Jewish ass down." Charlie snatched everything out of Steven's hands and with a curt thank you vanished into the kitchen again.

"No one can make banana pancakes like you, Charlie." Steven complimented before he knocked back a sip of beer and relaxed in his chair.

"A Dalton family secret. I can also make fatally delicious sticky buns." Charlie had finished clearing the table and Steven smiled.

"You'll have to make those for me sometime." Steven retorted idly. Frankly, he was just happy to be in clothes that hadn't been mauled by anything edible. And, to be honest, he felt remarkably different now that he was at home and with Charlie. Sure, he had hit his head as he got out of the car, but other than that, there hadn't been another mishap for the past three hours.

"Oh," Steven jumped as Charlie's voice slithered in his ear and he removed the brown glass bottle from Steven's hand. "Sticky buns? I can make that right _now_..." Steven turned to meet Charlie's face.

"Seriously? _Seriously_ Charlie? You really just said that?"

"Shut up, I know you love it. I am the King Emperor Czar of _talking dirrty_..." Charlie flexed his arms proudly-as if that would help him any.

Steven bit back his laughter and shook his head. "Charlie, _really_? That's like me waking you up at three in the morning on a Saturday saying 'Charlie, you got more curves than a Nissan Ad.'"

"Seriously Steven, you need to learn when to shut the hell up." And there was no more conversation for the rest of the night as Charlie pressed his wet mouth to Steven's and the pair melted to the floor.

TGFC

(Thank God For Charlie)

* * *

_Shoddy ending, I know. It just needed to, like, END._

_Yes, I'm aware that this has nothing to do with the prompt-THERE WAS PUNCHING! *A* PUNCH...UP THAR...SOMEWHAR... the first person to tell me where some of Ken's insults came from and get it correct, I'll let you dictate a oneshot you want me to write (and I will write ANYTHING you want). I make this promise in the blood of my future child-just so you know how serious I am. _


	10. Preoccupied

_**NOTE**__** :** Set in modern day because...I wanted to._

* * *

Charlie moped on the threadbare living room sofa, his feet cold and bare on the hard wood floor. With a disenchanted sigh, he cracked his neck and stared sullenly at the blank Word Document that glared at him from his Apple MacBook Pro screen. He released a ragged noise as he tipped his head back and rested it on the sofa's wooden frame. Charlie wondered what was the point of studying Journalism if he only ended up getting writer's block after sitting through that ridiculously expensive education.

"_Ste-ven!"_ He half shouted and half whined through the slender house. Charlie could hear Steven moving about upstairs and frowned at the lack of attention he received. "Ste-ven!" He tried again childishly dramatic. "I need _he-lp_!"

"God _knows_ you do," Steven descended the bamboo stairs with a blue and white Adidas duffle bag and adorned in matching sports clothes. "It might be easier listing the things you _don't_ need help with."

Charlie's face fell flat, "I'm going pretend you meant that lovingly."

"Well keep on Columbus because I really didn't."

Charlie stared at the preoccupied Meeks with an insincere hateful glare before he pushed his laptop aside and nimbly jumped over the couch to join Steven who was tying the laces of his sneakers. "And what are _you_ all dressed up for?" Charlie smirked and circled Steven in a predatory manner.

"I'm not _dressed up_ Charlie, I'm going to the gym." Steven replied flatly as he straightened himself.

"You always do look so _good_ in shorts..." Charlie was pushed away firmly. Steven was holding back his bashful grin as he shot Charlie a warning glance before he shouldered his duffle bag.

"I have badminton and tennis to get to, don't you dare try and distract me. Now, be fore I go," Steven paused, distracted by the unruly folding of Charlie's burgundy shirt collar under his light tan vest. "I don't understand why you _insist_ on dressing for cold weather at the height of summer-now, before I go," Steven grinned smugly as he dropped his bag and yanked Charlie forward by his collar, the person in question released a yelp of surprise, "What did you need help with?" Steven kissed him, a soft peck before pushing Charlie back so he could have his personal space.

Charlie blinked before his brain processed the question and then growled in his frustration and fell to the floor. "I have _no_ inspiration, _complete_ writer's block. I could _kill_ myself I'm so frustrated!" He sat up to look at a silently amused Steven, "I mean, how does _me_, Charles Dalton, a writer who is praised as the modern day Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and who has won _countless_ awards for his novels and ended up disgustingly rich get _writer's block_?" Steven merely raised an eyebrow and Charlie pondered to himself, "More importantly, how do I get rid of it?"

"Well, the money you can split, half goes to me, the other to charity-"

"Very funny Steven."

Steven realized that through all of Charlie's entertaining antics, he really was serious. And, surprisingly, Charlie looked very concerned over it. Steven knelt down next to him and cupped Charlie's strained face in his hands. "Look, you're stressing yourself out by forcing yourself to produce something that's pulitzer prize quality. You need to calm down, get out of the house, go and find something active to do. Pick something Sherlock Holmes used to d-no, _not_ cocaine. Not funny. We went through that once, let's not do that again." Steven kissed Charlie's forehead as the brunet pouted. "You could always come to the club with me." Steven offered as he searched Charlie's unenthusiastic eyes for an answer.

"No, I'll stay here for a bit. Maybe I'll watch _Young Sherlock Holmes_ and brush Coon."

"When I come back, I'm forcing you out of this house. That's final." They shared a goodbye kiss, Charlie less than enthusiastic about it as Steven departed after announcing he'd be back in an estimated three hours.

After the redhead radio producer left, Charlie thumped back down on the floor half-heartedly and stared up at the white void of the ceiling. The clock mounted in the kitchen echoed through the first floor and heightened Charlie's trance-like state. It was the attention-seeking meow and paw of a purring siamese cat smacking his nose that startled the haggard author. "Hey Coon." He scooped the cat and shuffled over to the pea coloured sofa to drop her down on it before he set up _Young Sherlock Holmes_ and watched numbly. Until of course a particular scene ignited an idea...

* * *

"Good game Steven!"

"Thanks Mark," Steven gasped appreciatively as he reached for his water bottle. _Uh-oh, Char-lie_...an automatic alarm went off in his head that left Steven digging through his bag for his phone. _Nothing? No missed calls? Messages?_ Steven frowned and lost himself in thought. A quiet Charlie usually meant he was doing something stupid or _plotting_ to do something stupid.

"_Engarde Meeks!"_ In this case, he was doing something stupid.

Steven jerked when something hard jabbed into his back. "What the he-oh. My. God." Steven picked up his glasses, adjusted them and blinked. "Charlie..." He sounded lost and confused as his partner grinned at him.

"I signed us up for fencing!"

Steven slapped a hand to his face. Charlie was always finding ridiculous ways to keep himself (and a reluctant Steven) very preoccupied.


	11. Virulence

"NO!" Richard Cameron exploded out of his bedroom sprinting down the hallway as fast as his legs could carry him. "No no no no no no no no NO NO NO NO NO! NO!" With every rapid span of floor crossed, Cameron's chest felt heavier, his eyes stung and started to water. He didn't believe it he _refused_ to believe it! There must've been a mistake, yeah! Mistaken identity! Neil would never-Cameron felt his gag reflex reacting to the stew of tormented and confused emotions inside. He turned a corner heading for the bathroom and lost his grip on the waxed floors with his worn slippers. His body burned and ached as he threw himself into the bathroom and grabbed the closest trash can, upending any and all of his stomach contents.

_Oh God, oh God Neil...oh God! He was my FRIEND! He was the only one that ever put up with me! The only one..._

Cameron slumped back down on the tile floor, wiping his mouth with the blue sleeve of his robe. In this still moment, Cameron cracked. Everything he had bee holding back pushed forward, starting with severe trembling and ending with messy, wet sobs.

_Oh God, i have absolutely NO friends now-FUCK YOU NEIL! Fuck...you-why did you just LEAVE me here? ALONE?_

Cameron covered his face in his hands, hyperventilating with sobs and gasps that made his body convulse.

He knew nobody liked him, he knew he was an irritating know-it-all-tell-all-little-shit. Ever since he was young he could remember not fitting with any of the kids he knew, he just never knew how to approach them. And then he was always made fun of because he was always the smallest the weakest-he however did learn that he could curry good favor with adults if he told teachers about how other kids misbehaved-and best of all, he got attention for it!

He didn't have a proper family-with his mother being a married man's mistress and all. A lot of the times, his mother was gone, leaving him alone in the house that Mr. Cameron had purchased for secret yet frequent meetings with Marilyn Penhall. No doubt, it was quite a beautiful home with a serving staff and everything-but a prison is still a prison regardless of how beautifully built or how kind the staff. The butler, Sebastian, mostly minded Richard Cameron-but even Sebastian had his duties to attend to. Richard really was alone...

And then Neil Perry had appeared in fourth grade. There was something about him that awed everyone. At first, Richard _hated_ him. This newcomer was stealing all of the adults' attention! Stealing all of...Richard's attention...and how he hated it. From then on, Richard always tried to set Neil up, to try and catch him committing a punishable offense. Then one day, their gym class had been introduced to the torment of _Dodge Ball_. Richard was terrified. Especially when their teacher was momentarily called out to have a brief meeting with the principle. All of a sudden _Dodge Ball _turned into _Kill Cameron_ and his entire grade ganged up on him-everyone, except Neil Perry who ended up reprimanding his classmates sore.

"Are you okay?" He reached his hand down to a quivering Richard. never in his life had anyone acted so human towards Richard...at first, he didn't quite know what to make of it. Before he knew it, he was having lunch with Neil, being partnered up with Neil, spending recess with Neil, having sleepovers with Neil-his social life revolved around Neil. His new friend helped the unwanted Richard Cameron semi-learn how to stand on his on.

And now everything had been snatched away.

The violent despair that had wracked Cameron now froze into a steely anger that seemed to poison his very soul.

Someone. Needed. To pay.

Richard's muscles clenched as the tears stopped running and he seethed, occasionally punching the floor-hard.

Cameron scanned a list of people that he could potentially lay the blame on, someone he could inform about-and not just for attention, but for _revenge_.

Mr. Perry would be too hard to get to, same with Mrs. Perry. besides they had lost someone too-Charlie was just one person and he'd probably rat on Cameron if given the chance...Meeks and Pitts were uselessly harmless, Knox was a bit too much of a wet blanket-Todd..._but I kinda like Todd..._was that it? was that really everyo-ooh ho no...Mr. Keating.

A sickening sharp smack echoed as Cameron punched the floor again, his anger building. _It's all HIS fault...getting Neil involved in a bunch of shit he shouldn't have been, encouraging him to step away from his familys' requests-if it wasn't for Mr. Keating..._if it wasn't for Keating then the Dead Poets Society would've never have been unearthed-Neil would still be alive!

The hallway was silent as Cameron padded down the hall to Mr. Nolan's office. His blue robe fanned out and swished behind him as he walked in slow, deliberate steps. _I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you Neil-someone needs to pay..._

* * *

_4:24 am + lonely summer = the mess you just read  
_


End file.
